Last Words
by OMGitsliliana
Summary: What happens when you say something you don't mean? Sad Delena one shot. My first fanfic ever.


"I love you."

Those are the last words she ever said to me. Had I known this would be our last conversation, I would have told her that I loved her too, that I couldn't live without her, that I didn't want to. I would have told her that every time she smiled at me, my heart soared as much as it ached. I would have said everything I had kept to myself for years- from the fact that I'd loved her since I read her short story in Writing Workshop 1 to the fact that being with her filled my dark and lonely life with light, a light that I was too desperate to lose.

But I didn't say any of those things to her. I couldn't. Not then, when circumstance triumphed over honesty. I thought telling her would be weak, and maybe it would have been, but looking back from it now, maybe if I had had a little more weakness and she had had a little more strength, we'd be together right now, whispering sweet nothings into one another's ears as we danced under the stars.

Instead I said, "It's too late," and slammed the door in her face.

I didn't see the way her face fell or watch as her angelic features crumpled into the broken mess I had accused her of being minutes before. I didn't hear her sobs as she walked down the steps of my home and into the dark night- vulnerable, alone.

I didn't see the color drain away from her face as the light behind her eyes dimmed until it vanished completely.

All I saw was her telling me she loved me- its all I kept seeing- for minutes, maybe even hours. Her lips looked beautiful uttering those three pretty words, words that when laced together have the power to mend a soul or rip it in two. I saw her hold her breath as she waited for my response, her eyes growing wider each second, filled with promise and hope, with a hint of fear.

And then I saw the door slam in her face- I saw myself slam the door in her face- each and every time.

Maybe things would have ended up differently if I hadn't slammed the door, sending her off into the night all by herself. She was so small. And beautiful, so beautiful.

The first time I laid my eyes on her she was sitting on a picnic blanket at college orientation- surrounded by her friends who were laughing and talking- reading a book. She was stunning- her straight brown hair hit the middle of her back and fell like a curtain over her face, hiding her features from my gaze. Her legs were tucked under her yet still appeared to be miles long under her short, summer dress. It was while I went to examine her face once more when I realized she was staring right at me, a smirk on her full, red lips, her eyes dancing with amusement. I probably should have been embarrassed and looked away, but I didn't. She was gorgeous and I would have been an idiot to not gawk at her, especially when those warm brown eyes looked directly into mine. Eventually she looked away and went back to her book, as if nothing had happened, as of she were used to people staring at her.

It was later, at the college's café, that I saw her again. It was also the first time I heard her voice. It was the first time I made her laugh. It was our first conversation.

Again, she was reading, but this time she was alone, oblivious to anything but the words in front of her. Up close, I noticed how her brow crinkled as she read, as if each and every word held the key to something valuable. Our interaction earlier had intrigued me. I found myself wanting to know this beautiful girl, who could clearly get lost in a book as easily as she could write her own name.

I walked up to her and sat at her table. She said nothing.

I cleared my throat. Again, she said nothing.

"Excuse me miss? Can't you see I'm trying to get your attention?" I asked her, wondering why she was ignoring me.

She looked up from her book, clearly annoyed that I had decided to strike up a conversation with her. "No, excuse me. Can't you see I'm busy?" She gestured towards her book.

I glanced at the cover. It looked like one of those really cheesy books that somehow make the best seller list even though it's a wonder they were published at all.

"Dear John? Really?"

She put the book down and glared at me. That was the first time I ever made her mad.

"You do not get to come up to me and judge me based on what I'm reading- especially since it is obvious that you haven't even read the book. This one happens to be great. Now if you'll excuse me-" A spark of recognition crossed her features, "Wait a second. You're that guy that was staring at me earlier." She smirked as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

"You really did have that smoldering thing going on- I couldn't help but stare back."

"Why?" I asked, almost absentmindedly.

"Look at you," she gestured towards me using one of her hands, "You're hot."

That was the first time she rendered me speechless. Now let's get this straight, this isn't the first time a girl has called me hot. I happen to be very attractive. And I know it. I have black hair and blue eyes that drive girls wild. My typical attire of all black clothing and my signature leather jacket usually have girls throwing themselves at me.

But this girl was different. She could clearly tell that I was good looking, and the mutual attraction was definitely there- but she wasn't sticking her chest out at me or staring me and licking her lips like most girls did. She just held my gaze as if I was nothing special. And for some real reason, it didn't bother me. It was... refreshing.

"Earth to Mr. Smolder," she said while snapping her fingers in my face.

I somehow left my trance and entered the real world again.

"I'm sorry. That was just so-"

"Honest?"

I paused, pondering her use of the word. "I guess you could say that."

She smiled at me and laughed. She was beautiful when she laughed.

After her laughter died down she said, "While I normally don't like strangers staring at me, you amuse me." She then closed her book and put it back in her purse. I think that was the first time she had ever done that for anyone. "What's your name?"

"Damon. Damon Salvatore."

"Damon Salvatore," she said my name as if testing it out on her lips. I loved the way she said my name.

"Well it's nice to meet you Damon. I'm Elena," she said with a small smile on her perfect lips.

Elena, I repeated in my mind. It suited her.

"If you're gonna stare at me like that, I'm not sure we can be friends Damon," she said playfully. Then to my surprise she added," Let's go get some ice cream. Chunky Monkey is my weakness," she rolled her eyes, "It's my treat," and with that she gathered her things, winked at me, and sauntered away.

A few seconds later I dumbly followed, wondering where on earth this girl came from and how one person could make me want to know them so much.

Now I see her for the last time. Her eyes are closed and she's pale, a type of pale that no makeup could correct. Her lips aren't as red as they used to be. They are now dry and cracked and thin.

Even in death, I still find her beautiful. Or maybe I find the memories I have of her beautiful. I guess I'll never really know.

"I love you too," I say.

But it's too late. She can't hear me.

She can't see the tears that escape my eyes and streak down my face. She's not there to calm me down at night when the nightmares take over and the sobs wrack my body endlessly. She isn't there at all.

My last words to her echo in my head. Endlessly. Relentlessly. And they have never been more accurate.

It's too late.  
It's too late.  
It's too late.


End file.
